If You Ask Me
by Elektra3
Summary: The Princess and the Pea Written for azpidistra in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge. Wherein the intelligence of several members of the royal family is called into question, and a certain princess proves to be less real than was previously believed.


Well, I must say that it didn't surprise me at all. It never sat right with me, the way the girl seemed to show up out of nowhere, with not a servant in sight. Fussy things, princesses; I've met one or two in my time, and let me tell you, I've never met a one of them who could wipe her own arse without an army of servants to help, begging your pardon, sir.

Well, I let her in, right enough, and I suppose that that much is my fault. But how the hell was I supposed to know who was outside, eh? It was pouring outside, water streaming down as if the gods themselves meant to drown us all. So I let her in – thought I'd let her sleep by the fire before she caught her death of cold out there.

And then – here's where the trouble started, I suppose – she said, standing there, looking for all the world like a drowned rat, she said – no, _demanded_ – demanded to see the prince. Not even a word of thanks for letting her in, and her all shivering, and soaked to the skin! And I said (very reasonably, if I do say so myself, you can't just go around introducing riffraff to royalty) I'm sorry, miss, I can't do that unless I know who you are. And _she_ started howling away about how she was the Princess Glenda, I couldn't do that to her, and how dare I keep her from her prince.

Well, I'd never seen anyone who looked less like a princess in my life. She was soaked to the skin and screeching like a banshee, and anyway who the hell ever heard of a princess without servants? And they never raise their voices, not to the help or to anyone else – well-mannered, they are, and pleasant. I don't know who the little harpy thought she was fooling, but it most certainly wasn't me, no sir. You have to get up a sight earlier to put one over on me!

Well, I wasn't about to let some cracked-brained harpy meet our prince just on her say-so; I was going to show her the door when she finally ran out of breath. And maybe that was my mistake, and I'm right sorry for it, because she'd raised such a ruckus in the meantime that it woke the other servants and that's where the trouble began. Nothing of _my_ doing, no sir, and if you ask me – not that anyone ever does – we'd all have been better off if we'd just thrown her out on her lying arse like I was going to do in the first place.

Well, she must've seen that the screeching highborn act wasn't working, because she changed her tune right enough when the others arrived, said that she was very sorry to have raised such a dreadful fuss – those were her words, dreadful fuss, I suppose she had a good enough grasp of princess words to have fooled everyone – but that I'd been so horribly _rude_ to her (and I never, sir, I'd _never_ be rude like she said, you'll never meet a more courteous man than me) and she was so very _tired_ after her long journey that she simply lost her temper, and could she please be introduced to the king and queen, pretty please? Oh, she didn't say those last two words, but you could all but hear them. Fluttering her eyelashes, she was, and simpering something fierce. And _they_ – fools, the lot of them, and I don't mind saying it – were taken right in and called for the king and queen.

Now our prince is a good lad, and I won't hear a word against him, but he's a fool, and no mistake about it. First this nonsense with finding a "real" princess – and what the hell does that mean, eh? If they've got the crown and the fancy silks and the flock of maids, isn't that real enough? But he'd traveled the world, and not a one of them suited him.

So when this girl claims to be a princess, the king and queen are right pleased to hear it – it'd been months after all, and their son no closer to marrying than he was before – but they're not such fools that they'd accept her without a test.

Now I'm a reasonable man, and a humble man at that; I know that there are things beyond my understanding. But if you ask me – not that anyone ever does, no sir – it was a damned silly way of testing someone. The queen used a pea. A _pea!_ Slipped it under a mattress and figured that, well, if the girl felt it in the night then she must be a princess. A _real_ princess, whatever the hell that means. I'm a reasonable man, like I said, but I can't for the life of me fathom what they all meant by that.

So the girl passes the test, silly as it was, and she and the prince wed. They _say_ that she was so sensitive that she felt the pea under all those mattresses; me, I say that she heard what the queen had planned and made up a whole story. Wouldn't put it past the little baggage, not after she – well, you know. Around the whole city, it is; I don't know why you even bothered talking to me. Not like anyone ever asks me.

Well, no more than a month passes before even our prince – and he was smitten, he was – noticed that there was something wrong. Seems that the "princess" claimed to have come from a kingdom that had never heard of her; the king and queen over there were right surprised, they were, to find out that they had another daughter! And that's when she up and confesses that she's no more than a village girl who ran away from home, and fancied herself the wife of the heir to the throne. No shame, I tell you. No shame at all.

Well, I suppose that's what he gets for wanting only a real princess, whatever the hell that means, instead of being satisfied with a regular princess. Seems like an invitation for any damn fool girl with a fancy dress to suddenly be a princess, if you ask me. Not that anyone ever does.


End file.
